Wounded Heart
by Emeline Pigott
Summary: Denise and Ghetti. This was infidelity of the worst sort.
1. Chapter 1

_

* * *

_

I wasn't even going to post this on here...but my why the hell not nature won out and so...here it is. my foray into Denise and Ghetti fic.

_Summary: Denise and Ghetti. This was infidelity of the worst sort._

* * *

**Wounded heart**

**-1-**

* * *

_She wrote him regularly, and set aside one day every week where she baked the cookies he liked to carefully ship them out to him._

_She went to work, and put everything she had into her patients. _

_Morethan once she came early; stayed late...tried to be there for the oneswho didn't have anyone else to do that for them._

_She was in attendance for the weekly--sometimes more--tribal meetings, for Claudia Joy's parties, everything that was expected of her; she did it._

_And every little thing, all of it, was so hard._

--

"If it's so hard for you, if I'm making your life so much harder...fine." Ghetti's expression was blank, impossible for her to read. "I'll just take myself out of the equation."

"No, Ghetti..." Denise tried to stop him, she hurt him she knew that, but it was all unintentional. She couldn't do this though...what they were doing, she just couldn't. "That's not—that's not what I want atall."

She didn't want it like that. She wanted him—she needed him there.

"Sure you do."

As he walked away, she felt empty inside. Like she'd lost a part of herself.

He was gone, and even though it was what she needed (right?), she didn't want it.

--

"So you did it?" Roxy asked.

Denise nodded, "You know, I was sitting there thinking I would feel somuch better after...and I can't. I don't."

She came here because Roxy was the only one who had never judged it,or looked at what she was doing, and thought it was just cheating on her husband. A sin of the flesh. Sometimes she wondered if it evencould be called that, she'd never even slept with him.

It was so much worse than cheating. Ghetti knew her in ways that Frank never had, she talked to him about things Frank could never understand. There was rawness with Ghetti that had never been there with Frank.

"You cared about him." Roxy said, pouring a shot of Jack for her, and seating herself next to her friend. "It's going to hurt, Denise."

Denise downed it quickly.

It was so much more than that, she realized. If it had just been about the physical, about sex...it would be so much easier. But it wasn't, it was emotional infidelity of the worst sort.

"Right." Her tone was depressed, and unconvincing. "I should go," She said, her tone muted. "Let you get back to those boys of yours."

Roxy jumped up to try and stop her, to convince her to stay a while.

"I'm in no hurry; they're spending the night camping in the backyard with Trevor." Roxy couldn't help but feel like the last thing Denise should be right now is alone.

Denise smiled sadly. "I really should go; I'm catching an early shift in the morning."

"Denise, wait you don't have to run off...would you like some dinner?"Roxy was worried about her, something about this, about Denise's expression, mannerisms, what she'd said—and more importantly not said; unsettled her.

Denise shook her head. "Thanks, Roxy, but I just want to go home andsleep. Go home and see your boys. Trust me, they grow up fast, you don't want to miss a minute of it."

She felt so guilty for piling this on Roxy in the way that she had. She'd asked so much for her by telling her the whole sordid story, and then asking her to keep it to herself. She'd asked Roxy to lie to her husband to help her keep her secret...and she did.

--

_Dear Frank,_

She'd started this same letter so many times...in her mind.

It was going to be a note of apology.

It was going to be a note of denial.

It was going to be a note of goodbye.

_Dear Ghetti,_

But then she was never sure whose name belonged on the top of that letter.

Who belonged to what letter?

They both loved her; she knew that even though Frank wasn't the bestat showing his love, he did. But there was something about Ghetti that she couldn't get out of her mind no matter how many glasses of wine she downed, or how many times she reminded herself of her commitment to her husband, her family, and the Army...she still loved him.She couldn't run away from that no matter how many letters of love she wrote her husband, how many care packages she put together for him...It twisted her up and convoluted her, and she wanted nothing more for everything to stop and catch up with her. For everything to be suspended in the air the way she felt she was.

--

There are rules to being a good Army wife. You keep things at home in order while your husband is away. You take care of the children, you send them letters and care packages to try and brighten their day. The most important part is when you get the coveted phone call, the almost tangible proof that they're still alive. You keep conversation light; never to say anything that could distract them from the mission at hand.

That was why the 'dear john' letters, even the ones she'd written out...were never, ever sent. It didn't matter if it was apology, or denial, or even goodbye...she was Mrs. Frank Sherwood. She was an officer's wife.She loved Frank. She did. It was so hard to remember a time before her husband, he had been her whole life—he and Jeremy—for so long; since she was nineteen. The funny thing was she had been part of the Army even longer. She understood the concept of Army, Unit, and then family and she'd never questioned it. Not when it tore her family apart, not when only did the Army own her husband, but her son also, not when she had to be second best to both men in her life because Army their first love.

Competing with the Army never bothered her until she realized...she didn't have to. With Ghetti, the Army was nothing more than an employer; the Army didn't steal him from her. He loved her and her alone.

The only problem with this was that she loved him too.

She tried to convince herself it was the loneliness; she knew her friends thought it was just loneliness. Even Roxy, who had been so understanding, thought that was what it was about. She wished it was this easy, that as soon as Frank came home...it would be over.

That every ounce of her being that felt herself aching to be with Ghetti, would just disappear.

But deep down she knew it was something that could never go away. So the question was could she live with that? Could she spend the rest of her life with her husband, all the while wanting another man?

Was it fair to anyone?

--


	2. Chapter 2

**

* * *

**

Wounded Heart

**-2-**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. If i did, the episode would have ended oh so differnetly, and Drew Fuller would be mine.**

* * *

She was standing on a bridge, a precipice of choice. All she had to do to keep things the same was to just not pick up that phone…and yet she was holding it in her hands all the same.

There are some numbers you don't ever forget no matter how much time passes. Some you can't forget no matter how hard you try to.

Some where deep down, she didn't expect for him to pick up the phone, for him to answer it, and to hear him say, _Denise? _He always said it the same way, like it was a question, and he was just waiting for the answer.

But not this time.

Getti,

_You're not busy._

You're avoiding me.

_There was a sad smile in her words; she could hear it as the words left her lips. She was on the other side…after avoiding him for so long…here he was avoiding her. It hurt._

_More then she thought it would—could._

I'm sorry…

_How could she even blame him. She didn't only break her heart, she broke his too. He loved her, and she ran._

Please call me.

--

questionsquestionsquestions

That's basically all life is, isn't it? Everything is one new question that you don't know the answer to on the test that life is.

_I love him, and so I kiss him. Even though he isn't my husband._

_I leave him and I still want him._

How can there ever be a right answer? Maybe there are no 'right' answers in life.

Can there be a choice of a right or wrong answer when no matter what you do, no matter what choice you make; you'll hurt someone?

You think that perhaps the best option—the safest option—is to remain stationary, in tandem, to do nothing, to choose neither.

At least this way no one gets hurt.

--

You know how it works the moment you see them. You even see the entire conversation play out in your head before it even happens. You don't even need them to tell you, anything they have to say is unimportant, just details. Who needs the details…either way, your worst nightmare, just happened, didn't it?

_Your husband's unit was attacked in Fallujah._

All you can do is nod your head at the buzzing in your ear; you never hear the details even if you want to. Who does? All you want are answers, and this is the Army. Where answers are just more questions.

_He's been unaccounted for. We don't know if he is among the wounded or not._

Among _the_ _dead_. But they never say that unless they're sure.

--

But what happens if that's not your worst nightmare, but relief?

--

Sometimes perfection was perfect.

With Getti it was. The world stopped for just a moment, and in that moment there were no worries, no consequences…things just _were_.

--

"_We'll always have the Julep." _

He was thinking as he looked at that damn pancake place, the one where they'd talked…the one that had taken him forever to find, but damn it, the pancakes, and the company had been worth it.

Maybe when he left he should have told her that, he thought as he got on his bike, the one girl he never had to worry about losing. And yet…she wasn't the girl he was worried about losing. He's already lost the one he thought he wouldn't be able to get over.

"_We'll always have the Julep." _

He should have told her that, it would have made her laugh. He loved her smile, her laugh…he loved every last, little thing about her.

Like how she hated Casablanca. He did too.

And now, here they were, and all they had left…was the Julep, he supposed.

He got on the bike, turned on the ignition, he didn't need food…he just needed to ride. Riding always put everything in perspective

--

Is it the one you commit to, or the one whose face you see in your dreams that you're supposed to be with? Is it even right to commit to someone you don't love…even if you did. People fall in and out of love every day. Maybe what they say is true, no two people can commit to one another for life, people change and evolve, and so marriages…they're destined for failure.

Maybe it was never going to work because she married her father and she wasn't--she never would be--her mother.

She put aside herself, her feelings, for nineteen years…and that façade was cracking. It was looking for a reason to fall apart. Getti was all the reason she needed.

--

For as far back as he could recall, a long stretch of road and his motorcycle could solve any problem that life threw at him.

All he needed was that wind on his face, the bike underneath him, and a stretch of empty road…and there was no problem on earth that was too big.

This was so much more than the normal problem. He couldn't hide from it, he couldn't run from it, he couldn't race it, he couldn't even heal the wounds it left him with.

_He loved her._

He didn't know if he could just walk away. He didn't know if he could leave her without a fight.

--

When his phone beeped…

_once_

_twice_

_three times_

…he considered ignoring it.

He couldn't.

It would be the hospital and he would go in, and he'd do his job, and everything would be fine.

He fumbled with his jacket pocket for a moment; he dug the phone out and flipped it open.

_Denise_

He froze at the sight of her number on the screen.

Its amazing how one little word can mean so much. In the space of maybe three seconds every possibility raced through his mind.

Only one meant anything at all.

_She loves me _

_She chose me_

_She chose _us

--

He didn't see it coming, but he was distracted.

_I'm sorry. Please, call me._

He didn't run red lights, but he was dialing Denise's number because he couldn't remember if it was her or his dad on speed dial one. .

It was probably her.

--

He didn't feel anything as the three tons of steel impacted into him and his bike.

He even thought he heard her voice.

--


End file.
